


Azure Collection (Three Ficlets)

by sexywiddlebaby



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Mixed Bag, Other, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexywiddlebaby/pseuds/sexywiddlebaby
Summary: Three Grump ficlets. They are only related in the sense that I didn't feel like they deserved their own publication.------1 - "Head Below Water". Featuring: Ross. Mentioning: Barry.Ross goes through a rough experience with delirium. Based on an experience I had of my own.2 - "The Coffee Shop". Featuring: Dan.Dan escapes to his favourite corner coffee place after a busy patch. Taken from my Tumblr.3 - "Instant Cookies". Featuring: Arin, Dan, Barry. Established Egobang.Dan needs to bake Arin cookies super duper fast. It's obviously a good idea. Taken from my Tumblr.------[017]





	1. 1 - Head Below Water

**Author's Note:**

> Each ficlet collection has a name for easy reference. Alphabetical colours is my method (and I don't think I'll exceed 26x3 ficlets anytime soon, so no worries about running out).

His own name swirled around in the rip currents of his mind. His thoughts obscured into the endless ocean of his subconscious, a vortex of confusion and distrust, and then his eyes began to deceive his brain. The room shifted ever so sickeningly slowly around him; it was like the room was a raging hot soup bowl, and upon the consumer burning their tongue, it was being stirred lazily with a dull metal spoon. His eyes didn't correct themselves however -- rubbing them only caused the room to blur and then fade back into an imperfect focus as the uneasy drifting continued.

_"Ross..."_ somebody hissed.  
His tongue, excessively parched, was unable to move enough to reply with anything other than a low grunt.  
_"Ross...where are you...?"_  
Focused on the nausea creeping through his stomach, he failed to speak again, resorting to clutching his burning gut.

Time had separated away from its normal flow in this space, instead being a luxury that sometimes passed, and other times stayed achingly vacant. He didn't know how long it had been since the room had become tumultuous disorder, but all that he cared for was everything to return to normal again. The sense of grounding stripped away, Ross was left with a feeling of constant floating in his bones.

Then, the door opened. A figure (unbeknown to be human to Ross), made its way towards the centre of the maelstrom, stretching and consuming the corners of his vision, all the while pounding his heart harder and harder against his fragile ribs. His panic was reaching an insufferable climax, the room growing darker and more dangerous. Brain screaming, sweat running and sight failing, Ross flinched for the end to come. He expected the cold and devastating embrace of Charybdis to claim him from his figmented torrents, but instead, a warmer and fleshy skin touched his own rather gently.

_"...Ross?"_ a recognised voice said.  
Ross stammered, trying to regain some sort of coherence, and mustered enough strength to reply: "B-Barry?"

He didn't recall the next couple of passing events (between Barry discovering Ross' ill state and having him calmed down in bed). What he did remember, though, was the uncomfortable emotions flooding his thoughts and body. It was a sensation that lingered like an ache after he woke up from what he presumed to be a nap, the brightness of the room being fair and his possessions painted a faint sunset-orange. He didn't care much for how he got here, all that mattered currently was he was alive and retaining consciousness.


	2. 2 - The Coffee Shop

An uncompromising coffee shop stands on a packed street corner, one of many such streets in downtown Glendale, its street sign rusting and creaking in the wind from a poorly fixed hinge. And yet, an otherwise passable location is where Dan finds its inexplicable charm, for an ordinary coffee shop would be branded in bright colours and logos, bombarded by queues of customers waiting to ressurrect themselves with caffeine. But this coffee shop is like a portal through time, seemingly untouched since its construction, only wearing the weight of nature’s intervention on its foundations, a feat unrivalled compared to any other shop in the area. As you approach this shop, you start to notice perhaps the windows aren’t as paper-thin as you expect, and the inside is comfortably busy, a stream of regular smiles coming to collect their hot drinks and take a cushioned seat.

Dan rubs his gloved hands together in search of warmth, practically shivering down the sidewalk, alone and cold. Winter nips the tips of his fingers and stiffens his joints. Although suitably dressed for the season, there seems to be no escaping the teeth-chattering gusts of wind that linger on his pale cheeks; a car passes by every few seconds, dragging its fumes and rumbling engine dangerously close to the pedestrians dotted around the street Dan walks, making him envious of the opportunity of a car heater to defrost his bones.

The door of the coffee shop greets Dan, creaking against his touch, ringing a bell hidden at the top of the frame — a jingle so familiar he imitates it every time he enters and leaves — and the handful of customers sip their beverages and pretend as if someone had thrown a log on the fireplace, only smiling wider at his presence.

“Morning, Daniel!” Rebecca, the manager, says cheerily. She is holding four mugs in each hand and balancing a dishcloth on her arm but is unfaltered, strolling at an agreeable walking pace towards the back of the kitchen. It never fails to scare him that she might drop something, but in the past three years of service, he has yet to notice even a sign of fault in the shop.

Dan rings the bell at the front bar. Like everything inside, it isn’t anything special (most likely a recycled piece of furniture from a parent’s car boot sale), and it doesn’t need to be. Dan enjoys the simplicity of the shop: a bar for serving customers at, six mismatched tables at different angles, fourteen worn and squeaky wooden chairs, a corner bin and a till. He can feel himself beginning to ease, melting into the silent atmosphere and cut off from the harsh weather.

Rebecca swings back through the door, a bag of newly-opened coffee beans under her arm. She thanks Dan for waiting, then makes note of his order — a large macchiato — before disappearing behind the kitchen door again. Dan meanders through the tables, reaching his favourite (empty) one, and slides onto the chair. It is the closest to the window by a fair margin, allowing for the sounds of raindrops pattering to the concrete to be more audible and for the petrichor to infuse with the coffee grounds in his nose: the perfect recipe for relaxation.

Barely a moment longer, Rebecca places Dan’s saucer on his table, sliding a basket of complimentary snacks next to his order (this time it was mostly odds-and-ends of biscotti batches).

“Thanks, Bec.”  
“You’re welcome, Dan.”

He reclines into his chair, assuming a poor posture, ideal for observing the stragglers drift past the shop. Pains transform into bliss as he drinks, the coffee warming his core and soothing his worries away into the frosty streets of California. What he would do for this every week is unspeakable. He smiles contently into his cup, the shop massaging his tired body and letting him calm down from the hectic life he holds.


	3. 3 - Instant Cookies

Arin’s stomach growls. Dan raises his head from the couch arm, checking to see if Arin has woken from his nap, but he notices that Arin is still lost in his dreams. Dan doesn’t want to disturb Arin, and gently untraps his left arm that is wedged between Arin and behind a seat cushion. He body slides out of his resting position and onto the floor, wincing when Arin drops onto the couch with more force than he intends to make.

Barry glances up from deep within his novel. He has been enjoying the quiet evening, free from Dan and Arin’s antics, and hopes that Arin will stay asleep for a little longer so he can finish his chapter. Fortunately, Arin continues to rest peacefully on the couch as Dan stretches out and walks to the open-plan kitchen, so Barry returns to his reading.

Dan swings a cupboard open, revealing boxes upon boxes upon boxes of his instant essentials: different types of herbal teas, Cheerios, and most importantly, prepared cookie dough. As much as he likes to eat cookie dough raw every so often, he thinks Arin would prefer the melting warmth of freshly baked cookies and milk after a nap. He pushes the rogue bags of Skittles aside and cleanly whips the box out of the cupboard, placing it on the counter.

He guesses that Barry wouldn’t mind a few as well, so he takes the entire box-worth of dough and rolls it out quietly with a floured rolling pin. Dan artistically cuts the cookies freehand, making crude circles and the ocassional phallic one too, then arranges them on several baking trays.

_Crap_ , Dan whispers to himself - he’d forgotten to pre-heat the oven. A crucial step in cookie-making has gone down the drain. He hears Arin beginning to stir, which is the last thing he needs if the cookies are to be a surprise. The reverse of the box recommends a pre-heated oven set to 350F for about ten minutes; Dan doesn’t have the time and requires an almost instant baking time.

_“Bar,”_ Dan hisses across the apartment, _“I need your help with this.”_  
Barry raises an eyebrow, remembering the sheer number of times Dan has done this independently before, but puts his book down and joins Dan next to the oven anyway.  
“Have you forgotten how the oven works?” Barry asks.  
“No– I was wondering how hot this thing can get, exactly.”  
“Why, what’s wrong with three-fifty today?”  
“It’s too slow! I need them cooked instantly for His Grumpiness. As long as I bump the time down enough, they’ll flash bake, right?”  
“Dan, that’s not a good idea.”  
“Why not?”  
“It would burn them - and maybe even you - to a crisp.”  
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take, Bar. You wouldn’t understand the things I would do for Arin, even if that is sacrificing myself so he can have Crocker’s cookies.”

Barry chuckles, but continues to tell Dan to cook them the way he’s always done them - at a sensible temperature for a sensible amount of time. As Barry returns over to his armchair, Dan completes his rough mental gymnastics. If it takes twelve cookies ten minutes to bake at 350, that should work out to 126,000F for a one-second bake, give or take a few degrees. Perfect!

Dan shoves the trays of treats into the oven, then keys in the optimum temperature and flicks the switch.

***

“F…ound…them…!”  
“They’re over here…!”  
Dan’s head is pounding with adrenaline as his eyes crack open, the disturbing sight of charred chunks of building and oven scattered in piles around him. He attempts to concentrate his blurry vision as raindrops patter against his tender skin, the moonlight distinguishing his frame from the rubble.

In the next few minutes, his body is lifted away from the remnants of his apartment and brought to the unaffected side of the road, laying next to Arin and Barry. Police cars and ambulances are wailing a few yards away while firefighters extinguish the last of the flames.

Dan sits up in one piece, clutching his head as it continues to beat pain around. A medic asks him routine questions, shines a torch in his eyes and checks his vitals. After clearing him of any life-threatening ailments, he rushes over to Arin, wrapping himself in Arin’s welcoming arms.  
“What the fuck happened?” Arin says into Dan’s shoulder.  
“Cookies. Are you hurt?”  
“Wh–cookies?”

Barry interrupts. “Chef Sexbang here thought cranking the oven to a ridiculous setting for instant cookies was a good plan.”  
“Danny…” Arin sighs.  
“Hey, don’t blame me! I wanted you to have something to wake up to! I didn’t know **that** would happen…”  
Arin laughs into Dan’s dampening shirt. “You definitely gave me _something_ to wake up to.”  
“And I don’t want to say I told you so Dan, but I told you so,” Barry says.  
Dan frowns, then kisses Arin’s forehead.  
“I’m just happy that you’re safe,” Dan whispers.

Arin hands a small paper bag of burned cookie shards to Dan.  
“They still taste great.”  
Dan laughs bittersweetly, noticing that Arin has handpicked the selection and given Dan an entire bag of dicks.  
“Thanks.”


End file.
